


Losers First

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [54]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: It feels wrong, walking into the Saddledome as a visitor.





	Losers First

Sometimes Jared has wondered if the hockey schedulers like — hate him. Idle thoughts when he’s got a ridiculous number of out of town games right when he needs to study most, or two straight games versus tough teams when he’s recovering from the flu, shit like that. Obviously, considering those schedules were set in stone long before his teachers set the deadlines or he got the flu in the first place, he knows it’s a ridiculous thought, but it still sometimes pops up, fleeting.

It’s popping up again.

Their first preseason game is against the Flames, because of course it is. Jared looked at the schedule more than a few times this summer, but it didn’t quite hit him with the same force as it does when he’s packing one of his bags for a road trip…home. A road trip fucking home. To play in the arena he played two seasons in, against his childhood team. Against his _boyfriend’s_ team.

You’d think maybe it’d stop feeling weird eventually, but so far, no good, and Jared doesn’t exactly have time to adjust to it, to adjust to playing games at all, before he’s about to be thrown right into an arena he’s played dozens of games in for the home team, entering his city as the enemy for the first time ever.

Jared honestly feels nauseated, and he thinks only part of it is nerves.

*

Jared hardly expects to play Bryce — Chaz, for sure, he’s bubble, they’re going to want to see him play a lot, but Bryce? Nah.

 _weird to play u tonite_ , Bryce texts him when he’s on the bus coming into town. Jared tilts his phone away from Ryder, just in case, even if he appears to be napping.

 _Do you mean that as like your team is playing me or you specifically are playing me?_ Jared texts back.

 _i’m playing tonite_ , Bryce texts back, and — shit. Shit, shit, shit. This was already weird enough when Jared was assuming Bryce would just be watching it.

 _Remember not to accidentally board me!_ , Jared texts.

 _lol_ , Bryce sends back, and why are all of Bryce’s lols ominous, Jared wants to know. Well, it’s not like him and Bryce will be playing the same shifts anyway. He wonders if he should tell Bryce not to board Rogers either or something. Jared can’t help but like Rogers. Jacobi’s free game though.

It feels wrong, walking into the Saddledome as a visitor.

Jared’s got to say, he likes the home locker room a whole lot better. The Hitmen played last night, and Bryce could be sitting in the same stall that was designated to Jared last season. He never asked. It might be his stall again. He doesn’t know.

There is very little Jared likes less than not knowing what’s coming.

In the meantime, he sits in a shitty little visitor’s stall that’s barely big enough for him — and he’s far from one of the bigger guys on this team — and tries to get his breathing under control.

“Hey,” Rogers says. “You okay, bud?”

“Fine,” Jared mumbles, though he probably doesn’t look it.

Rogers literally gets down on one knee in front of Jared’s stall like he’s a little kid and Rogers needs to get on his level. “I threw up before my first NHL game,” he says.

Well, that was about the worst possible thing he could have said, because now Jared’s nausea is roaring back to life.

“I’m surprised you can still remember it,” Jared says. It’s a shit chirp — Rogers isn’t even that old — but hey, defence mechanism or whatever. Rogers’ fault for getting within range of him right now.

“Your parents here tonight?” Rogers asks.

Jared nods. “And my sister. And like, my entire extended family, so.”

“Makes it harder, huh?” Rogers asks, and maybe it would if Jared wasn’t so fucking concerned about playing his _boyfriend_. What if they win and Bryce gets mad even though it’s an exhibition game? How’s Jared going to feel if they lose? Disappointed, or conflicted, or what? He can’t predict his own feelings, and that scares him.

“My dad’s a Flames fan,” Jared says. “Well, like, my whole family, but my dad especially.”

“Not tonight he isn’t,” Rogers says, and Jared’s not sure that’s true.

“This was my home ice,” Jared says, not sure why he’s admitting that. Why it even matters. It isn’t anymore, at least not tonight, so there’s no point mentioning it. He doesn’t know why he keeps blurting things out. Rogers just has one of those faces, Jared guesses, like whatever you say, it’s cool, he’s there for you.

Jared doubts that’d be the case if he mentioned what was really getting to him right now.

“C’mon,” Rogers says. “Take a walk with me, show me around.”

He probably knows this part of the Saddledome way better than Jared — he must have played the Flames dozens of times, and the places Jared knows inside and out are, you know, currently occupied by Flames, but Rogers still trails after him as he gives a half-assed tour, and by the time they get back to the room, Jared feels a little calmer.

 _gud luck tonite_ , Bryce texts him before the game, which is probably the only interaction they’re going to have tonight. Jared barely has time to see his family, since they’re flying out to Winnipeg tonight, and finding Bryce after the game would probably be asking for trouble. He resents it. Gets on home turf and he’s leaving practically as soon as he gets there. Probably going to leave before he can even figure out how he feels about it. 

The crowd boos when Jared takes the ice. Well, like, not at Jared specifically, they’re booing the Oilers, but.

They boo when Jared takes the ice.

Morris bumps shoulders with him on the bench, and Jared wonders why so many people seem to think Jared needs like, to talk. He doesn’t want to talk.

“Soon as you hit the ice it won’t matter,” Morris says, and he’s not right, exactly, but he’s not wrong either. As soon as he hits the ice it gets boiled down to what it is. It’s hockey, and it doesn’t matter what jersey he’s wearing, what jersey the other team’s wearing, he wants to _win_.

They don’t, though.

Bryce scores in the second, and for the first time ever, Jared doesn’t want to cheer.

He scores again in the third, and at that point, with the scoreboard blaring 6-2, it’s just salt in the wound.

*

So, turns out if it doesn’t matter if you’re playing your favourite team in the entire fucking world, because losing sucks exactly the same. The mood’s not super great in the room after, and Jared’s grateful to have an out, showers and gets dressed as fast as he can. Mulligan gives him a nod when he reminds him he’s meeting family, tells him the bus leaves in forty-five minutes, and if he’s not on it, he’s figuring out a way to Winnipeg by himself.

Mulligan kind of scares the shit out of Jared. Like, to the point where he sets an alarm on his phone for half an hour, just in case.

His family got past security without his help — probably easy, considering Jared’s pretty sure his dad’s on first name basis with all the security people thanks to waiting for Jared after Hitmen games for years — and no one’s wearing what they’re supposed to. Well, his mom is, dressed in a sweater, but his dad isn’t wearing his usual Flames jersey, and and Erin — well, she definitely didn’t own that Oilers jersey when Jared left town.

“What are you wearing?” Jared asks, appalled. “Take that off right now.”

“I’m supporting my brother,” Erin says sweetly.

She’s fucking trolling her brother, and she knows it.

“I thought it was nice she wanted a jersey,” his dad says, with this little smirk around his mouth like he too knows she did it to troll Jared. Hell, he’d probably wear one himself if he wouldn’t like, melt if an Edmonton jersey touched his skin. He went for middle ground, is wearing Jared’s Hitmen jersey, for maximal support for Jared and minimal support for the Oilers. His dad has literally never gone to a Flames game without donning a Flames jersey before, so Jared feels kind of touched.

Not by Erin’s shit though. That is the opposite of touching.

“Hey NHL superstar,” his mom says.

“Hardly,” Jared says. “I didn’t exactly distinguish myself.”

“No one else did either,” his dad says. “You’ve got more chances, bud.”

“Sure,” Jared says. “But that’s one chance squandered, so.”

“Enough of that,” his mom says, pulling him in to a one-armed hug he has to lean down into and shaking his shoulder. “You just played an NHL game.”

“Sort of,” Jared says.

“Jared,” she says.

“Only sort of!” he says.

“Sort of is still more than almost anyone else ever gets to,” she says. “How do you feel?”

“Like I lost,” Jared says, and then, mumbled, just in case someone overhears, “And like my stupid boyfriend got more points than my entire team.”

“He _was_ good,” his dad says, and Jared would be more enthused about the note of approval there if, you know, it hadn’t been three points _against his team_. “You’ve got to get used to losing if you’re playing for them.”

“Dad,” Jared says.

“I mean it,” his dad says. “You’re on a rebuild team, buddy, losing is something you’ll have to learn to live with. You can’t sulk about it every time.”

“I’m not sulking,” Jared says. 

“Of course not,” his mom says.

“I’m allowed to after like, my first _game_ ,” Jared protests.

“You hold onto the pissed, nothing else, okay?” his dad says. “And then you go kick some Jets ass.”

That is…easier said than done. They fly out of Winnipeg with another loss, and yeah, it’s the preseason, but — the Jets fucking thrashed them, and it seems like a pretty ominous portent for Jared’s future with the Oilers. 

The next game is against the North Stars, and the Oilers squeak out the narrowest of wins, but it’s a game Jared wasn’t even on the ice for, so that doesn’t feel like a lot of consolation. 

And then the Flames come to town. Jared was hoping Bryce would be coming in, all unexpectedly, but obviously that’s not — that doesn’t make sense, seriously. You don’t dress your best during the preseason. Like, maybe for a game or two, see how they roll with some of the dudes on the bubble, but if it’s already a foregone conclusion they’re on the roster, you don’t tend to use them during meaningless games.

Jared’s not sulking about it. Exactly. He just —

He misses his boyfriend, okay? It’s the longest he’s gone without seeing Bryce in — like, ever, and if he makes the final roster that’s only the beginning, and it _sucks_.

“I could come down tomorrow anyway,” Bryce says, when Jared vents some of that. “It’s not that long a drive.”

“No you can’t,” Jared says. “What if someone sees you? People in Edmonton know who you are, Bryce.”

“So what, I’ll just say I’m supporting my team,” Bryce says.

“I would barely be able to see you anyway,” Jared says. “Between the game and the roommate and all that.”

“Yeah,” Bryce says. “I — it was just an idea. I really wanted them to play me in this one.”

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Well, at least the Oilers have a better chance of winning without you on the ice? I’m tired of losing.” 

“You’ve only played two games,” Bryce says.

“Two _losses_ ,” Jared says. “And they weren’t even close.”

“You were good, though,” Bryce says.

“I was okay,” Jared says. He wasn’t terrible or anything, but he’s got all of one point, and that was on a secondary assist, so it like, barely counts.

“You were good,” Bryce argues, and Jared — wasn’t, he’s pretty damn sure, but it’s not worth arguing. “I’ll root for you. Not for like, the Oilers, obviously, I’m not going to cheer against my team, but like rooting for you to play—”

“I get it,” Jared says, can’t help laughing, because Bryce sounds panicked, like the hockey gods are listening and heard him be disloyal to the Flames or something. 

Jared has to go before he wants to, because Brewer comes in like he owns the place — which, okay, it’s his room too, but still. He’s maybe sulking about it — every conversation he has with Bryce is shorter than he wants it to be — when Chaz texts him, asks if he wants to grab a bite to eat when he’s in town for the game.

 _For sure_ , Jared texts back, just happy to hang out with someone he doesn’t feel dimly like a traitor for liking.

Jared grabs lunch with Chaz on game day — Brewer gave him this like, judgy eyebrow when he mentioned he was meeting up with a former teammate, but Brewer can fuck right off — and honestly it’s a relief to sit across from someone he knows well and just shoot the shit. Someone who knows he has a boyfriend, if not who, and like, asks after him, which is — nice? Weird, though, because honestly the answer is ‘I dunno, you’ve seen him more recently than I have, you tell me’.

“Doing good,” Jared goes with. “How’s being a Flame?”

“Not a Flame yet,” Chaz says, but he’s grinning, and it ends up with them like, swapping the dirt on teammates, Jared grudgingly admitting that Darryl Rogers is nice, Chaz…talking about Bryce all fanboy like, which is kind of hilarious. Mostly about his hockey — and who wouldn’t fanboy that — but it gets Jared curious.

“How’s Marcus in person?” Jared asks. “He seems like kind of a dick in interviews.”

It’s an opinion Jared’s heard from plenty of fans — and used to share — but he still feels like an asshole for saying it. Like, he knows Bryce would be hurt if he knew he said it, even if he’s doing it for the purposes of fishing for compliments, making sure Chaz actually likes him, because Bryce likes Chaz, and like — it’d upset Jared if Chaz secretly hated Bryce. Bryce…doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends, and not like in the way Jared doesn’t because he’s picky.

“Nah, he’s a cool dude,” Chaz says, and Jared bites back a smile. “I think he’s just like, shy. He’s pretty quiet.”

Jared really wants to hug Chaz right now, but that would probably seem pretty weird.

“Shy,” he says, instead. “Really?”

“Yeah, I dunno, he doesn’t like, talk much in the room?” Chaz says. “But he’s been really cool to me, like, not even remotely how they make him seem, so I think the media’s kind of full of shit about him.”

Jared could _kiss_ Chaz right now, but again, pretty weird, and also Bryce probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

“I’m glad he’s cool,” Jared says, trying really hard not to beam.

After lunch Chaz heads out with a ‘sorry in advance to beat you tonight’, which removes all kissing urges, especially because, once again, Jared’s on the ice as they record another loss. It isn’t the ugly rout Bryce lead the charge on, but it’s still another tick in the L column, and Jared got a goal, but what does it matter when they still lost by one?

That night, Brewer sleeping while Jared glares up at the ceiling, jaw clenched tight and eyes blurry, he wonders if he’s cut out for this at all, because it fucking — it hurts, and he didn’t expect it to hurt like this, didn’t expect to care as much as he does, more than he ever has, and the games don’t even — they don’t even _count_ yet, and here is is fucking trying not to cry like a little kid.

Jared thumbs his phone over to messages, looks at Bryce’s last few: _sick goal!_ followed by _sorry :(_ , and starts typing, but it’s late, and Bryce is probably sleeping, so he deletes the self-pitying sad sack bullshit and tries to go to sleep instead.


End file.
